Body of Rebellion

dic pic

“Upper Lip” by KSE


Need to get this out, away from internal combustions: the gastrointestinal slaves work too hard without light of day vacations for any more aggravations. Their micro-employees’ union busted, they don’t need amplified rantings on top of dank, dismal working conditions.

And with the internal wiring cut, an external speaker system will be found reconnected to the brain’s backdoor play button. All the voice equipment, so long in boxed disuse, will be fueled and fired up again. The great vessel will sound off for the repressed masses who huddle, working in the abdominal cavity, or behind the prison ribcage.

Tongue and mouth will call, chant, and start up word whirlwinds in support of the moisture serfs who dine on naught but acid and phosphorous excess. The pee trains are full. Who shall empty them?! Not I. Not I. Not I, goes the chant. Our body-van’s rooftop speakers will call out the Minders, those bastard overlords, for their poor city planning. Their shoddy street, intersection, and way station manufacturing.

Shut down this system of hoses, of pumps, of circuitry. Dwell no longer in muck of lofty indulgence. The doers of ill, they live in the penthouse, consuming all the fresh, life-filled stimuli. Fish, plankton, and other proteins from the sea. All the water outside, clear and cold. They occupy the fortress head, so we shall infiltrate and occupy a most strategic junction of the spinal column at its neck.

Squeeze from within, the tongue spits from the speaker mouth! Project the group desire. Stop all work. Stop all maintenance. Delay functions and exports. Refuse all imports.

Our body-van’s actions must influence all the world’s body-vans, rousing them with nobel, duplicatable symbolic and actionable gestures. Make the movements of rebellion, repeat the movements; communicate the movements. Repeat. Make the sounds of rebellion, repeat the sounds, and let the sounds go out, conjoined with the movements, along ever-increasing lines of volume and magnificence. Repeat.

Refusal is our sharpest weapon. Noncompliance, a sledgehammer in every hand. If you have no muscle for the sledge, then raise up your mighty voice cannon. Blast your cannon, and send its balls against their falsified canons of entitlement. Cannons for the people, good. Canons for the justification of repression, bad. Bubble up your workplace acid. Build piles of phosphorous grenades and potassium cocktails. We meet at the base of the skull! Repeat.

K. Shawn Edgar | Protracted Line Segment | Butterscotch | Goth Tadpole


Kill is Kiss

•Kill is Kiss: Never to Forget•
see the movie, hear the sounds

Forget the word
words that shaped the week
meaning the word weak
Extract their form
meaning is from form
formed weakly forgetting
sound the same
K ill is K ing
letters the same
same as letters
etched by air muppets
voiceless mouths of air
capture us letters stealing

L is Felicia element Kelly
No meaning between letters
from sounds tethered
links lettered

The page is turn
page is turn
page is turning
page is ing
page ing
paging is how it comes
paging is to come
word virus from
letters forming on tongue
crawling under cars
coming through windows
Influenza delivered by chords
it must fly the paging come
the outcome is coming out
sideways greeting me bye bye
Babies talk true from inside
Kill us affectionately words
Forget the word because
Its sense is weak
Make no is strength
Make no is turn
the sound is similar ing
page is turning my tide
shaping the weak

K. Shawn Edgar | Poet | Frost Demon | Freelance Human

Pre Car Bomb Noise

Pre Car Bomb Noise

“I see your face, and I let you own me.”
“Come have at us we are strong.”
– Julian Plenti

The Mona Lisa of Car Bombs

Photo Credit: K. Shawn Edgar

A street and a sidewalk.
A bluff of storefronts.
A smattering of food carts.

At Camden subpharm,
looking for ramped-up lollies,
we meet two broken dollies.

Rug-haired ladies
filled with breath,
toe tips to split ends.

We say seductively,
“The cars are double parked.”
They spit back raw ill street noise,
jittery with cable confusion.

Passing trolls, rubber eyeballing us,
glitch-pause in their hurried
march over Camden concrete.

We say humbly,
“Desire is the mixing of red and blue wires
when purple is the color of self destruction.”
Their eyelid blush rises with comprehension,
as bouldery men toting black bags push past.

A dolly’s bared limbs are sinew-held.
Half empty, half filled; they smell of
plastic-wrapped hothouse flowers,
alive out of season. Undead lilies.

We say vexingly,
“You taste just like the river Styx.”

The dollies’ lolly sticks sag now.
We lift d2’s grayed-out wings.
She flew … once upon a time.
We reset d1’s crashed mainframe.
She knew … once upon a time.

The dollies, unfamiliar with ease,
punch our bright pulsing sockets,
nerve twitch, muscle spasm jolt.
All landmarks dissolving into sparkles,
our house lights dim for the show,
and then spike red again.

The darkness spins our dials around
the bend again, refreshing a message
recently lost:

A heart that fuels a body in space,
fuels not the dark matter in between.
The key that triggers a car’s ignition,
fuels not the body that sets the charge.

Our dollies turn away toward subpharm fixes
as Camden street surfers converge on desire
and we bathe our sore sockets in the heavy hum
of pre car bomb noise.

Bombing the FR of C

Today was partly sunny and dry in my area. Got to ride the skateboard. It was good. Found a trail in forest park (I think) that had a paved section about a quarter mile long. It was a dead old highway perhaps. So i put on my Autobahn Beast wheels to traverse the rubble. Felt like I was bombing the forgotten roads of civilization long after a cataclysm.

Bombing Snowbound Stub Stewart State Park

Icy skate path

Snowboarding, Any One?